Complicated
by White Lioness Spirit
Summary: Loki puts Natasha under his spell aboard the Helicarrier. Clint won't let her go that easily. Clint/Natasha and Loki/Natasha pairings.
1. Chapter 1: Fear

_**Complicated**_

**A/N: This idea just popped into my head and demanded to be written. There have been quite a few alerts placed on both my stories **_Burn_** and **_Romanticizing The God Of Mischief_**. Since they are one-shots, however, I won't be updating those. Instead, I've decided to try my hand at writing a multi-chapter story featuring the best of both worlds: Loki/Natasha and Clint/Natasha. It's been forever since I have written a multi-chapter story, so I hope it works out well. This story is dedicated to everyone who prompted me to write more, with a special shout-out to **_BlackParadeIsDead483_**.**

**Chapter 1: Fear**

She stalked down the darkened hall, her heart pounding so loudly she fancied she could hear the pulse of it in her ears. Her guns were drawn; her footsteps soft; her breath caught in her throat. The face-off with the Hulk had left her terrified. She had seen her death in his rage-fueled eyes. Now, hearing that Clint was aboard the Helicarrier had strained her further. A cold prickle of fear fanned up her spine. She was a seasoned killer and assassin. There was very little that frightened her, so she was disturbed by the fear she felt now. It felt queer. Still, she had never experienced a threat quite like this.

_Loki_. Her gut twisted in rage whenever she thought of what he had done. Anyone who showed up and acted like they had the right to conquer Earth and enslave mankind was going to be on her shit list, but Loki had gone one step further and put Clint under some kind of spell. He had bewitched Doctor Selvig too. She didn't know the doctor very well, having only met him once or twice, but he had appeared to be a good man. Not only that, but Loki had destroyed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters and killed a great many people. Eighty she'd told Thor.

She found it bewildering that Thor claimed kinship to Loki. Thor was trying to aid them in stopping Loki's plan. Loki was barbaric, a monster. She had called him that herself when she had sought him out. She thought she had one-upped him. She had been foolish to think that she had outsmarted Loki. She loathed him, but she had to admire his skill at deception, no matter how grudging that admiration may be. She squeezed the handles of her guns until her skin ached. The ache was welcome. It cleared her head and brought her back to the here and now. Everything was silent. Fear rose up and enveloped her. She had to stop and fight it down. She was fierce, and a fighter. She never let her worries get the best of her.

The silence bothered her. With everything going on the place should have been in total chaos. Still, everything had been silent when she had been hiding from the Hulk. That had been one of the most terrifying things she had, and most likely would, ever experience. That something so big could be so quiet was both incredible and blood chilling. She turned, half expecting to see the beast come flying at her from the dark. Only the still darkness greeted her. She allowed herself to breath out as inaudibly as she could. Thor had taken the Hulk off her hands, leaving her to find Clint.

Clint. Her partner. She had told Loki she didn't love him. _"Love is for children,"_ she'd said. She certainly would never have told him any differently. At times she wondered if perhaps she wasn't being entirely honest with herself. She had been raised so efficiently that feelings like love were an almost foreign enigma. Almost. She didn't like to dwell on thoughts along that line. She hated feeling puzzled by feelings. They got in the way of her job. She was all about her job. It was everything she knew. She disliked anything that complicated it. Clint didn't. The two of them worked well together. She felt comfortable with him. It was that comfort that made her question her feelings… _'No!'_ she thought furiously._ 'Don't go there, Natasha!'_ She had to remain focused on the task at hand. Clint could slip through her grasp if she didn't tread carefully.

She made sure she was silent as she crept through the halls. There was no telling where an enemy was waiting to ambush her, wishing for her death. _'I won't touch Barton, not until I make him kill you! Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And when he wakes, he'll have just enough time to see the work he's done, and when he screams, I'll break his skull!'_ Loki's hateful words rang through her mind. She jammed the butt of one of her guns against her forehead, desperately trying to quell them. They were such poisonous words. She wouldn't let them come to pass. That toughened her resolve. If Loki wanted to kill her, she was going to make it as difficult for him as possible.

She heard soft footfall ahead and stiffened. Years of training kicked in, and she hugged the walls as she approached, her guns gripped tightly in her slightly trembling hands. With a pang she recognized Clint. Though it was dark, she could identify Clint's lean, yet muscular stature. He wasn't all that taller than her. Short for a man in his profession, yet she'd never been one to judge a man on his height. He was heading for the cell where Loki was being held.

She tried to keep her breathing calm, but it sounded so loud and harsh to her ears. Her footsteps sounded sharp and heavy. Her heart thumped in her chest, near painfully. Her senses sharpened, and she kept her eyes trained on Clint. She kept her body tense, carefully awaiting any slight sign that Clint acknowledged her presence. She didn't have long to wait. His stance dropped, and his body stiffened. He turned so fast, almost supernaturally fast, and fired an arrow at her. A slower person would be sagging to the floor now, Clint's arrow buried in their flesh. Luckily, the years of being an assassin had given her the swiftest of reflexes.

She dived to the side in a neat roll, managing to keep her guns firmly in hand. Her fingers slid off the triggers. It was a near miraculous feat that she could do such a thing and not fatally harm herself. She had been the most apt pupil. She wasn't a member of the Avengers for nothing. She was forced to dive away again as Clint let another arrow fly. It was unfortunate that Clint was as quick and fluid in his motions as she. She kicked off from the ground and barreled into him. He was ready for her. She raised her guns, about the smash the butts of them onto Clint's temples, but Clint hoisted his bow and effectively shielded his face. The guns cracked down against it. Clint twisted violently, and the guns were wrenched from her grasp. He drove the bow up into her face, forcing her off him. She scrambled away, too slowly. Clint kicked her in the ribs, knocking her breath from her lungs. While she lay there momentarily stunned, Clint pounced on her.

His hands wrapped around her slender long neck, and a bubble of panic burst within her. She couldn't fight like that. She had to clear her head. She rocked on her back and used the momentum to push herself up. She smashed the bridge of Clint's nose with her forehead. He grunted in pain and rolled off her. Her throat ached, and she panted. They both regained their footing, standing off against one another. Blood poured down Clint's face.

Clint's eyes! They had always fascinated her. She had never been able to lock down their color. Sometimes they looked blue. Other times they looked green. Now they were blue, but not a natural blue. Clint's eyes were an eerie, almost glowing blue. _'It must be a sign of Loki's spell,'_ she thought. Rage blossomed in her, fanning through her with a roar like a blazing fire. "Clint." She wouldn't beg or plead. She wasn't that kind of woman. It hurt to see Clint like this, but she refused to show it. She hoped her voice would get though to him. Surely there was still a part of Clint in there that would recognize her.

He smiled widely. His smile was crazy, a mirror of Loki's. He didn't speak, but that smile promised awful things for her. Loki's words ran through her mind again._ 'No! I won't let that happen.' _She attacked. Clint's hand snaked back to his quiver still on his back to string yet another arrow, but Natasha beat him to it. She punched him with one hand, while her other swiped the bow from his hands. It clattered to the dark floor to lie amongst her guns. He stuck his leg out, forcing her backwards to trip over it. He snatched an arrow and held it like he was planning to stab her with it. When he threw himself forward, she raised her legs and managed to toss him over behind her.

He was panting just as hard as she was now. She could hear him rasping in the shadows. She lunged to the ground and scooped up her guns, just as Clint came rushing out of the dark, murder in his eyes. He slammed her against the wall. She felt the sharp bite of his fingernails against her upper arms. He grabbed her hands, twisting her delicate wrists. She felt the guns slide from her hands again, and cursed inwardly. She made a valiant effort to knee him in the crotch, but missed. It hardly mattered, as Clint reared back and Natasha took the opportunity to cup both her hands and smack them, hard, over his ears. Clint screamed then in a primal feral rage. Working fast, she drew back her fist and drove it into his sternum. When he doubled over, she swiveled on her foot and kicked him. She may have been a relatively short woman, but she could kick like a horse.

Clint went down heavily. She snatched up her guns and held them at him. Clint tried to struggle to his feet, but Natasha brought the butt of one gun down on his temple. It cracked on contact and she couldn't help but wince. Clint sprawled on his back with a guttural groan. He blinked up at her blearily. "Natasha?"

His eyes were still misted by Loki's enchantment. _'Sorry, Clint.'_ It pained her to do such a thing, but it needed to be done. She hit him with all her strength, knocking him into unconsciousness. She collapsed into a heap on the floor. She could taste the sharp metallic tang of blood upon her tongue. She returned her guns to their holsters and radioed in Clint's position. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.

A sudden roar made the floor tremble, and she rocketed to her feet. It came from… '_Oh, no! Loki.'_ She hated leaving Clint there alone in the dark, but if Loki was being freed she had to stop it. She would be glad to stop him, preferably with a bullet between the eyes. She flew toward the room, her hands on her holsters. She dropped into a perfect tuck and roll to avoid anyone in the room who would do her harm. She made a smaller target that way. She straightened up, her hands already opening her holsters to draw out the guns, when she saw the scene before her. Her hands dropped away, rigid from utter shock.

Thor was locked inside the cell. The glass cracked from where he had clearly used his hammer to try and shatter it. The smoking heap near the control panel must have been Loki. She hoped he was dead, or at least dying, but that would be far too easy. Fate had never really been in her court. Agent Coulson… oh. She crawled over to him, taking in his pale clammy skin, and the deep bloody gash on his chest. She pressed her quaking hands over it in a futile attempt to stop the blood flow.

"Agent Coulson, look at me," she commanded. His breathing was thin and shallow. She cupped a hand to his face. "Phil!"

His eyes fluttered open. "Oh, Agent Romanoff." A trickle of blood crept from the corner of his mouth and ran down his skin.

"I'm going to get you out of here," she promised him. She raised her walkie-talkie to her mouth to call for help, but a warning yell from Thor, and a more quiet, strained one from Agent Coulson, made her jump away warily.

Loki was standing in front of her, his mouth stretched wide in amusement. Clint's grin hadn't been like Loki's at all, she'd been wrong with that assessment. Loki's was so much screwier. It was warped, a twisted Cheshire cat smirk. His eyes burned with a feverish pitch. He looked down at Coulson gleefully. She could feel her face contort in fury. He held the scepter in his hands. One of the hexed goons behind him, with their guns aimed at her, must have procured it for him. Loki approached her carefully and deliberately. The end of the scepter glowed brighter as he draw nearer.

Natasha sprang into motion. She drew her guns rapidly and shot the assailants behind Loki. She didn't kill them, just shot them in the hand so they would drop their weapons. Their screams mingled together in a hair-raising symphony. She raised her guns to Loki's face when something heavy, and oh so very hard, struck her from behind. She fell forward toward Loki… fell through him. Loki flickered and vanished as she fell through him. Sprawled on the floor, she turned around and saw Loki grinning down at her. "W… what?" she stuttered.

Loki chuckled and spread his arms wide. Quicker than the bat of an eye, many replicas of Loki surrounded her. They laughed at her mockingly, laughing at the stunned expression on her face. Of course, she had seen his little trick in Germany. Still, there was a difference between seeing it from a helicopter and seeing it right before her. It was very disconcerting. All the replicas clutched scepters in their hands.

'_Damn it,'_ she thought grimly. Being surrounded by enemies was bad enough when she was on her own, being surrounded by an enemy like Loki was wholly undesirable. Her guns lay on the ground so very close, but she was wary about reaching for them. One of the Loki's moved slightly, and her instincts kicked into high gear. She snatched up her guns and spun around. Which Loki was the right one? They were all moving around, circling her like a wolf pack circles an elk.

She kept watch for any sign of the real Loki. She lunged to the left suddenly, swinging her gun into the face of one Loki. It vanished. She brought her elbow up and smacked it into the chest of the next nearest one. It connected solidly. The holograms disappeared, and Loki stumbled back. She kept at it, driving him back. She used the muzzle of her gun to strike him across the nose. Loki lashed out with his scepter. She felt it scratch across her soft cheek. He hooked it down and swept her off her feet before she could anticipate his move. She hit the ground so hard the breath was knocked from her again. Her guns clattered to the floor beside her. He stepped on her chest, pining her down. Natasha squirmed and cursed at him, but she couldn't get free.

Loki was tall, but he wasn't particularly muscular. Not that it mattered. He was still stronger, being a god of sorts. He knelt down upon her chest and a ripple of pain coursed through her. He was breathing hard, and she took joy in the fact she had managed to wound him. Blood trickled from his mouth and nose. She tried, in vain, to head butt him. He laughed at her fruitless attempt.

"You mortals fight so hard against the inevitable," he told her, examining her closely. He lowered the scepter down to her chest. Her blue-green eyes widened in alarm. No matter how fiercely she thrashed about, she couldn't throw him off._ 'So easy,'_ her thoughts were miserable._ 'I made it so easy for him.' _She was emotionally and physically drained from her fight with Clint, and seeing Phil Coulson dying only added to her woe. The fight drained out of her.

"Brother, no!" she heard Thor shout. She thought she heard Coulson mumble something too, but she couldn't be sure.

Natasha closed her eyes. The last thought she had that was completely hers was of Clint.

When the scepter touched the flesh above her heart, her eyes snapped open and she gasped. Such knowledge! She could see things she never had before. She knew things she never had before. There was still a little part of her left, screaming for control. It was smothered deep down. Loki had control now. Loki: her master. He grasped her chin, looking deep into her eyes. He smiled, and she felt her own lips tug upwards likewise. She got to her feet and followed Loki closely, putting her guns back where they belonged. She watched Loki stand before the control panel. When he pressed the button and Thor vanished into the openness below, a cold cruel grin snaked across her plump lips.

More followers were joining them now, most bearing signs of fighting. Loki turned to them all, a proud smile on his thin lips. "Come," he commanded. Natasha followed, ignoring the sane part of her trying to regain control. She was Loki's now, and she would serve him loyally. She knew where they were going, and she laughed.


	2. Chapter 2: Guilt

**Chapter 2: Guilt**

**A/N: Thank you so very much to everyone that reviewed and/or put this story on his or her alerts/favorites list. I really appreciate the support. It puts the biggest smile on my face. This is a Clint-centric chapter, with a bit of Captain America thrown in. I promise the next chapter will be Loki/Natasha.**

He felt as though someone was slowly driving a shard of glass into his skull. He could almost feel specks of glass breaking off as it was forced in deeper and more roughly, twisting to try and break through the bone. He groaned and clapped his hands over his equally aching face. He could still feel Loki in there, trying to tamper with his brain some more. He mashed the heels of his palms against the sensitive skin around his eyes. _'Get out, you son of a bitch. Get the hell out!'_

The sound of a throat being cleared jolted him back to the here and now. "Barton?"

Clint's stomach lurched. That wasn't Natasha's voice. His eyes were watering when he pulled his hands away. A man was sitting across from him, tall, buff and blond. He was wearing an odd looking costume of red, white and blue. Clint's bow and quiver lay on the ground at the man's feet. Clint could feel his lips begin to twitch upwards into a smile. "Judging by those stars and stripes you must be Captain America."

"The very same," the Captain replied, with a weak smile that didn't extend to his blue eyes.

Clint reclined back. He was lying on one of the beds in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical bay. It was exceedingly uncomfortable, but in his state, Clint wasn't about to complain. He shut his eyes and groaned, clenching his fists to the sides of his head.

"Is it Loki?" Cap asked in concern. "You've got to fight him."

Clint hissed through gritted teeth. "Yeah, I've got that, thanks, Cap. He isn't making it easy." Loki's control over him was erratic, coming and going like the tide of a sea. It made his head pound something ferocious. When his mind cleared somewhat, Clint took the opportunity to talk to the Captain. There was no telling when damned Loki would try to infiltrate his mind again. "I was expecting Agent Romanoff to be here," he said, trying to sound casual. "Not that I'm not grateful to have you here, Cap."

"Steve," the man replied. He wore no smile. The downcast expression on his face actually made Clint feel a tad uneasy.

"Yeah, I know. There isn't a person in America who doesn't know who you are. Steve Rogers. Alias: Captain America. It's an honor to have you here. S.H.I.E.L.D. hammers in respect early on."

Steve's lips twitched very slightly. The dejected look drove Clint to speak again. "How'd I get here, Sir?"

Steve twitched. He sighed deeply, staring down at his knotted hands. "Agent Romanoff took you down."

A sick, icy feeling twisted Clint's stomach. Natasha. "Where is she?" His voice was hollow.

Steve's eyes met his. There was anger there, but something else Clint couldn't, or more likely didn't want to, distinguish. "We believe that…" he paused and broke off, looking away again. "We believe that she left with… with Loki."

The world rushed away with a roar. Clint rocked forward, forcing Steve to rush forward to lower him back onto the bed. "Easy, Solider."

"Loki," Clint choked out. "She left with _Loki_?"

"Loki was freed by…"

"By me?" Clint bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He punched the wall in guilt and fury, savoring the sudden sharp bite of pain that fanned up his arm.

Steve seized his arm. "Enough of that," he said sharply. He must have thought he had spoken to Clint more sharply than he should have, for his tone softened. " You didn't free him. It wasn't your fault. You had no control. None of them did."

"None of them?"

"We caught some others who were under Loki's influence. Some lived, some died. The ones that lived that have regained consciousness say they don't remember much. It seems Loki can manipulate how much those he enchants remember." He eyed Clint curiously.

Clint shook his head. "I'm trying to remember, but it's slipping away, bit by bit." His knuckles were bruised and raw from their contact with the wall. He ran his calloused fingertips over them gingerly. The pain was good. It was an old friend. It helped quash the guilt. "I may not have freed the bastard, but I sure as hell aided his freedom, and now he has Nat … uhh … Agent Romanoff."

Steve squeezed his arm reassuringly. "We'll get her back."

"Does anybody have a clue where they're headed?"

"We hoped you or one of the others would know. Stark's trying to figure that out now."

Stark? Tony Stark. Iron Man. Hell, he had missed a lot. Clint snorted. "Sorry, Cap. If I knew where Loki was going I'd be on my way already." He sat up with a groan. "How many agents…?"

"Don't do that to yourself," Steve advised.

"There's something you're not telling me, Cap. I can hear it in your voice."

Steve turned his back on Clint. Clint doubted that his stomach could possibly sink any lower. "Coulson." Steve's voice was neutral, possibly trying to deal as soft a blow as he could.

"Coulson? Is he…?"

Steve bowed his head and nodded solemnly.

It didn't work. Clint put his head in his hands. He loathed showing weakness in front of his fellow team members, but Captain America would have to excuse this instance. Phil Coulson had been a good man. Clint didn't want to know any further details, and he was thankful that Steve didn't give any. Between the news of Natasha being compromised, and Coulson's death, Clint was almost wishing that he hadn't awoken. He ran his hands from his face to his hair. "Can you give me five minutes, Sir?"

Steve turned slightly, looking back at Clint over his shoulder. His wide blue eyes examined Clint for the briefest of seconds before he nodded and strode from the room. The automatic door closed behind him with a sharp click. As soon as he was gone, Clint jumped to his feet, trying not to scream in rage and grief. He satisfied himself by punching the wall repeatedly; happy when cracks started to form. He pulled his hands back and examined his knuckles. The flesh was inflamed and bleeding a little.

"Shit," he muttered. He crossed to the small bathroom, making sure he closed the door behind him. He carefully ran his aching hand under the cool refreshing water. He avoided looking in the mirror. He couldn't bear to face himself just yet. The ache of his hand, his head, and his face, was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. _'Natasha.'_

He splashed some water over his face. The cold made his skin tingle and prickle, but he didn't mind. He gripped the lip of the sink tightly, finally summoning up the courage to look at himself. Natasha had done a damn good job of taking him down. His skin was tinged with black and purple, and one side of his nose was swollen. Not doubt about it. He looked as shitty as he felt. The bags under his eyes certainly didn't help. Loki must have kept him working under the very last second. _'Prick. I'll enjoy putting an arrow in his eye socket. After I find Natasha.'_

Natasha. Black Widow. It pained him that he was here, and she had been taken. He had saved her all those years ago, and now she had returned the favor. Since he had saved her, he had always questioned how exactly he felt about her. He hated feelings. They complicated things. Made his job all the more difficult. He knew that she felt the same way. She was just as stilted with her feelings as he was. That made them a great team. They were two sides of a coin. They worked well together, and got along just fine. They completed each other.

'_Don't think like that, damn it,'_ he thought irately. He didn't know how Natasha felt. They never talked about their feelings with each other, but he couldn't help but notice just how beautiful his teammate was. Her thick shoulder length hair was the perfect shade of red. It complimented her smooth, flawless, pale skin. Her big eyes were the most fascinating color. Green, but in a certain light they looked blue, almost like the sea. Her lips were delectably full and pink. Her body was an absolutely killer package. Curves in all the right places, and it looked superb in her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. He could remember the mouth-watering smell of the French vanilla perfume she liked, or the musky smell of her sweat after a training session, or a job.

'_Jesus! You're turning into a frigging poet.'_ He almost laughed at that. He had noticed how men admired her body, when she wasn't looking. That hot body could be lethal, and everyone knew it. It had always bothered him how, well, jealous it made him. He wasn't supposed to be salivating over her like a dog. He sighed wearily and bowed his head. Bloody feelings had to complicate everything. He could fight, and deny it, all he wanted, but it would always come back to this, wouldn't it?

He was smitten with Natasha.

He looked into the mirror. His gray eyes were his own, clouded with a number of conflicting thoughts, confusion and guilt conflicting for top position. "Well done, Clint," he said aloud. "You've finally admitted it to yourself."

'_Ah,'_ that irritating voice in his head cooed, _'but you admitted to being smitten by Natasha. What about love?'_

Love? Clint scoffed. That was harder to admit. Love could change things, destroy things. Bad enough he had finally come clean about being besotted with Nat, could he take that further step?_ 'Why don't you just think about it? The second you heard about Natasha, Loki lost his control over you.' _That was true. The horror that struck him on hearing about Nat dissolved what control Loki had over him entirely. Surely that meant something. Hearing about Coulson's death would have had the same effect, wouldn't it? He hoped dearly that Phil Coulson went down fighting, but Natasha…

Anger fired up. He half expected to see the drops of water on his skin start to sizzle and smoke. If Loki hurt Natasha… _'You'll do what? Loki is a God. What can you possibly do to him?'_

"Whatever it takes." His voice was low and gruff. He would gladly fight Loki to the death to free Natasha from his influence. He owed her. _'Are you both destined to circle each other forever, each owing the other? Careful, Clint. There's danger down that path. You'll get caught in a never ending circle, and it was drag you both down to the depths.'_

How he hated this rational voice. Was this a sign that he was starting to crack? _'No, it's a sign you're ready to finally man up and face yourself.'_

"Yes." He drew himself up to his full height, his eyes sweeping over his reflection, over every scar and every flaw that marred his body. He wore each like a badge of honor. He had procured them doing his job. He ran his fingertips feather light over the fresh bruises on his face and body. They would fade in time, but the pain would always bear with him. He could do something about that.

Determination sank its claws into him, and he shrugged it on like a cloak. "Beware Loki," he snarled, his features contorting.

He heard the door outside whisper open and Steve's voice call to him. He sighed and picked up a small white hand towel, wiping the moisture of his body as he stepped out of the bathroom. Steve's brow furrowed, but he wore an almost relieved expression. Clint didn't speak, but cocked his head in a question.

"Have you got a suit?" Steve asked.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Then suit up."

Clint felt his lips pull into into a brutal smile. "You know where Loki's going."

Steve nodded. Clint crossed the room to where he was standing, tossing the towel down onto the medical bed. He picked up his bow off the floor. It fit perfectly into his hand. It was an essential piece of him, practically a part of him. He faced Cap again, still smiling coldly. "Good."

He hoped he had the opportunity to plunge one of the arrows through Loki's skull, so he would feel the same pain Clint did. He would make Loki regret Coulson's death. He'd make Loki wish he had never so much as looked at Natasha. It was bad enough that he had been put under Loki's spell so easily, and that Loki had screwed with S.H.I.E.L.D. but when he messed with the woman Clint fancied, he had crossed over into dangerous territory.

'_If he has put his enchantment on you, Nat, keep fighting. I'm coming for you.'_


	3. Chapter 3: Lust

**Chapter 3: Lust**

**A/N: Warning: This chapter will be rated M for soft-core smut. I don't want to go too graphic, but the warning still stands.**

**I hope I've written Loki in character. He's a very tough guy to write. There are so many complicated layers to him.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed and/or added this to your favorite stories/story alerts list! Your support really means a lot.**

Stark Tower.

There was no better place to open the portal for the Chitauri. It had everything he needed to power the Tesseract and unleash the power of his army upon Midgard. Selvig and Barton had brought it to his attention, and Selvig's research had provided all the information he required. _'The mortals really do make it so simple.'_ Those mortals would soon watch as his power, and the might of his army, destroyed their feeble protectors. Those protectors would be torn apart, and the hopes of the mortals would die with them. They would kneel to him then, their spirits broken, their hopes dashed. A smile curled Loki's thin lips at the thought. Mortals were such derisory creatures. They broke so easily, frail as parchment. Their minds were so easily corrupted. They truly were creatures made for subjugation. Made to be ruled. A few might rise up against him, as that old fool had done in Germany, but they could be easily extinguished. The rest would bow their heads in defeat, and accept him as their rightful king.

He found it truly baffling that Thor had such _affection_ for this realm. The mortals were more arrogant than they had any right to be, and they were slowly and surely killing their world. The mortals slaughtered themselves and life around them en masse. Asgard had always been ripe with beauty, and Midgard had its own beauty, but the life of its mortal inhabitants was destroying it. The night sky in Asgard was a magnificently beautiful thing to behold. Rich colors painted the darkness, and the stars, moons and galaxies of distant worlds glowed ever bright. The night sky of Midgard was an ugly sight; the few stars that were visible were dull in their glow, the rest hidden by a veil of something the mortals called 'pollution'.

No matter. When he became king, he would restore Midgard to its splendor. He had been to Midgard several times in his youth, and had observed how the mortals in the past had respected their land. They depended on it for life, but, as Midgardian technology advanced, the mortals lost their respect and dependency on the earth that had given their ancestors life. The mortals really did have little reason to fight him. _'I will be a fair king,'_ he thought._ 'A better king than Thor could ever have been.'_ Any mortal who fought against his rule would be swiftly cut down, but those who knelt and accepted him and his rule, would be treated fairly. They would be free to live their lives almost as they had before.

Thor would no doubt prove to be a burden, that beast as well more likely as not. In the end though, he was confident that his army would prove too much, and overwhelm them. The soldier and Stark were mere mortals and could be killed easily enough. The beast would be a fine addition to his ranks under his power. Thor however, he would prove a greater challenge.

"_We were raised together. We played together. We fought together. Do you remember none of that?"_

Loki's long fingers twisted around the staff of the scepter tightly. He tried to banish Thor's words from his mind, but they replayed over and over in a running loop. Thor was a sentimental fool. So concerned about his precious Midgard and the dull-witted creatures that populated it. He mourned for their splintered brotherhood like a lovelorn maiden. Thor had taken everything from him. All of Asgard had worshipped him, and Loki had been cast to the shadows. He truly had grown up in Thor's vast shadow, and he resented Thor deeply for that. Still, deep down he felt a niggling feeling of something akin to guilt. Thor may have been irresponsible and arrogant in the past, but he had always looked out for Loki.

He gritted his teeth. He was a God, and a king. He wouldn't let his mind stray down that poignant path. He was no longer the weak, pitiful being he had been in Asgard. His mind had been expanded. He had seen things that few others could ever even begin to imagine. He had knowledge and power, and with them he would step out from Thor's shadow and rule all. He would prove greater than Thor ever would.

"Sir, we're approaching Stark tower."

The woman's voice jolted him from his thoughts. He had almost forgotten that she was there. He had felt that his control over Barton had lost hold entirely, and the woman had admitted to him that she had a hand in that. That displeased him, but there were always many other minds out there, just begging for a spark of his knowledge. In truth, he felt he had gained a higher foothold by capturing the woman's mind. He had seen into Barton's mind, and seen the affection he held for her.

He gazed at the woman; Natasha Romanoff, Barton had called her. Her code name Black Widow referred to a venomous spider, she had told him._ 'A fitting name.'_ She was pretty, for a mortal. Her hair was a red hue that reminded him of the dying embers of a fire. Her skin was soft, smooth and as pale as the petal of a jasmine flower. Her eyes had been a hazy blue, like a churning sea. Now they were a bright blue, brightened by the enchantment he had placed upon her. Her black suit was tight enough that he could see how it clung to her well-rounded figure. She didn't look like a warrior maiden (and he doubted she truly was a maiden), but he knew firsthand how deceptive appearances could be. She'd been a fierce fighter, and she had a cunning he reluctantly admired. Her interrogation when he was in captivity had been most fascinating. She claimed not to love Barton. _"Love is for children,"_ he recalled that her words had been. She could try to lie to herself all she wanted, but he was the Liesmith. He was the master of lies, and not one slipped past him unnoticed.

He smiled coldly. "Good." The sooner his plan was put into motion, the better. He could almost taste success upon his tongue, and it was a fine taste indeed.

The jet slowed as it approached the tower. It got as close to the tower as it possible could, before part of it yawned open with a loud rumbling groan to let them out. He wasn't sure how the mortal contraption worked, but Romanoff walked right to the edge boldly and stepped off. She landed with an almost otherworldly grace on the ground. Loki smiled widely as he dropped down beside her, his heavy black boots absorbing the shock of the drop.

Selvig was already there, assembling his device that would power the Tesseract and open the portal, allowing the Chitauri to come through. The man turned at the sound of their arrival. Once his eyes feel on Loki, his mouth split into a manic grin of utter devotion. His face was haggard and pale, the skin beneath his eyes discolored and puffy from lack of sleep. Loki planned to keep him working until the very end. Only when he had conquered, would he dispose of the man.

"Just a few more adjustments, and it'll be ready to go," he announced to Loki, proudly.

Loki gave him a smile that a master gives a loyal hound. These mortals really were like his loyal dogs, and he would treat them as such. "You've done well," he told Selvig, smirking when the man's eyes widened and brightened in glee at the praise. "Succeed, and you will be richly rewarded."

The man dropped to one knee before him. "I will. I won't disappoint you."

"See that you don't," Loki replied. He turned away, with Romanoff striding ahead of him. She pulled open the door to the rooftop staircase, standing aside to let him past like a well-trained servant.

She followed him closely as he explored the building. He found it humorous that Stark had built such a large building with his name proudly emblazoned across it. The man's arrogance was near staggering, almost on par with Thor. _'Or my own,'_ he thought, with a smirk. He could stand to be arrogant, though. He was a God! Stark was a mere mortal. Intelligent, he couldn't deny _that_, but still saddled with the meager limitations of his race. Taking this place as his would suit him just fine, and it would be amusing to have the mortals see their heroes smashed down by a pure, powerful force that none of them could ever have comprehended. He contemplated how impressive the tower would look bearing his name. The thought was a very pleasing one.

He stood before the glass, staring out over New York City. It was a vile, noisy place. He watched the multi-colored mortal transport run in the streets below, and the multitude of mortals, small as ants, scurrying about their daily lives. "How soon all that will change," he whispered, his breath misting against the glass. The view up here was a striking one. He could see out over the vast number of buildings, to the harbor, where yet more mortal transport ran. _'They do have beguiling technology here.'_ He had little to no respect for the mortals, but their technology had its advantages.

Movement in the background reflecting off the glass drew his attention, though it was just Romanoff shifting her position slightly. Loki made to turn back to his view, when a thought grabbed him. He recalled that he had told Agent Romanoff that he would make Barton kill her. He could still see her fear and horror in his mind's eye. Barton was gone, and he had captured Romanoff instead. "A fair trade," he murmured, approaching her slowly.

He dropped the scepter, and hooked her chin in his long fingers, tilting her face up so she was looking straight into his green eyes._ 'No longer a mewling quim.'_ She was his now, completely loyal to him, and his to toy with. Her delectably full lips curled into a smile ripe with utter reverence. "Ah, yes," he whispered to her, as softly as a maiden's kiss. "So sweet." His thumb rose to her bottom lip, dragging it feather light against the soft flesh.

A shiver ran through her body at his touch. He chuckled at the sight. No doubt Barton would come for her, looking to be her savior. It would be such a delectable thing to make Romanoff kill him. He had seen into the inner most thoughts of the pair. They tried desperately to quash the affection they held for each other. To tear the love struck pair apart in such a way would delight him. Perhaps not right away. He could keep Barton captive. Make the mortal watch while he ravished Romanoff. He could picture the pain in Barton's eyes, almost glassed over with tears of pain and fury, while he took her and marked her skin with his mouth. Once he was finished he would watch as she put Barton out of his misery, _slowly_ and _intimately_, just the method of death he had promised Romanoff. He knew just how to lure Barton to him. To cause such covetous wrath in the mortal that he would come straight to Loki and therefore fall into his trap. Such an idea was sweet as wine.

He slipped the tip of his thumb into her mouth, leering when the tip of her tongue brushed it. She did have lovely lips, so full and sweet. Lips just made for kissing. He pulled his thumb away, instead brushing the soft fine hair on her temples. His hands cupped her face while he ran his fingers through her curls, savoring the softness. He looped clumps of her hair around his fingers tightly, making her gasp in pain, her lips parting. He took the opportunity to kiss her roughly, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She melted into him, her hands massaging his shoulders passionately. He only pulled away from he once he was breathless. He surveyed her, panting, delighted to see her lips were now swollen.

She kept her hands gripping his shoulders, whimpering softly at the loss of sensual contact. He leaned in close, smelling her fresh, silky hair. His mouth went to her throat, kissing, sucking, and nipping the skin hard enough to mark it. Her ample chest heaved against his as she gasped. She twisted and turned her head more, granting him greater access to more of her pale skin. Her hands slid up from his shoulders to his hair, running her fingers through it, trying to press him tighter against her. His own hands dropped to her waist, before snaking down to grip her buttocks. He lifted her up, and she wrapped her strong legs around his waist in a firm grip. He walked to the long ebony table behind him, his mouth never leaving her skin. He sat her down right on the edge, breaking off the contact with her skin, observing her with his cool jade eyes.

She gripped the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles started to pale. Her legs didn't unwind from his waist, so he was still held right against her. "Please," she whispered, though swollen lips. "Oh, _please_."

He smiled at her, and cocked his head slightly. He loved the effect he was having on the woman. Even their difference in height pleased him. With Romanoff sitting on the table, he towered over her. He felt truly like her king in this position. The level of power he had over her was intoxicating. "Please what?"

Her eyes, cloaked by his spell, blinked up at him. "Please, Sir?"

"Oh." He caressed her jaw line lightly. "You can do better than that, Agent Romanoff, surely."

Her tongue ran along her lips. "Please, Master?"

"Better, but I think a more regal title is fitting."

She considered that for a moment, before her face lit up, and she smiled lasciviously. "Please, my king."

His smiled turned wolfish. "Perfect." He rewarded her with another lip bruising kiss. His nimble fingers slowly tugged the zipper of her suit down, his fingertips skating over the newly revealed skin. He jerked her roughly, sending her sprawling onto her back, so he could explore her body with more ease. It was a very fine body indeed. The occasional scar puckered her flesh, but apart from that it was smooth and unblemished.

Her bra proved no challenge to remove, and when his mouth, tongue and teeth attacked her sizeable, heaving breasts, she cried out beneath him. The sound of her pleasure made him grin wickedly. By the time he had taken his fill of her breasts, the tissue was discolored by blue and red.

He peeled the suit down further, as his mouth dropped lower down her torso. He stopped to pull off her boots, commanding her to keep her eyes on him. He ripped the suit off her, leaving her clad in a delicate pair of black lace panties. He slowly, teasingly, slipped his fingers under the band, almost tickling the sensitive skin. She whimpered and thrashed about below him, raising her hips to grind against him, hitting just the right spot. His hands went to her large hips, squeezing them tightly, his mouth parted as faint volts of pleasure coursed through him.

He let them both enjoy the sensation for a moment, before he arched his hips back. "Not yet," he whispered hoarsely.

An endless chant of _please, please, please_ ran forth from her tongue. His mouth went to the delicate shell of her ear. "Please what, Natasha?" he almost moaned her name.

That incited the ideal reaction. Natasha groaned and swallowed heavily, her eyes fluttering. "Please, Loki. _My king_. I'm begging you."

Loki laughed aloud. This was proving to be quite an experience ripe for a little mischief. "I am a merciful king, and since you begged…" He stepped back and unfastened his pants, drawing his erection out. "Keep your eyes on me," he ordered her. In one fast, fluid motion, he wrenched her panties off and thrust inside her.

It had been a long while since Loki had made love to a woman. All the women in Asgard had flocked to Thor, and had little interest in his thinner, dark-haired brother. He groaned as he thrust into Natasha, and almost spent himself inside her then and there. He gritted his teeth, and clutched her hips so strongly, that his hands left bruises upon her hipbones. She moaned under him, breaking off her eye contact to throw her head back in ecstasy. He rocked himself back and forth, a knot of pleasure building up inside him. Natasha's thighs clamped around his own hips. His palms slid up and down them. He didn't disbelieve that they were dangerous weapons, as deadly as her fists and feet. He picked up speed, slamming into her harder and faster.

Her back arched off the table. She moaned deeply. "Lo… Loki!"

The knot of pleasure in him was at near breaking point. He twisted one of her nipples sharply. He had to fight to get his words out. "What was that, Miss Romanoff?"

She let out a high-pitched cry. "Ah, Loki… Loki, my king." She rocked suddenly beneath him as her climax took hold. The sudden movement was enough to make him reach his completion with her. He threw back his head, his dark hair streaming about his face, as a harsh guttural yowl ripped free from his throat. He collapsed on top of her, shuddering.

They both lay prone until the aftershocks of satisfaction left them, and they stopped quivering. Their breathing was husky and shallow. A light sheen of sweat coated their joined bodies. He rose up off Natasha, pulling himself out of her, both of them gasping as another, albeit faint, aftershock rippled through them. He tucked himself back into his pants, trying to regain his breath. He crossed the room and picked up his scepter again, before turning back to her. She was slowly hauling herself up off the table, trying to stand of trembling legs.

"Get dressed," he commanded her. It would be quite amusing to have the organization S.H.I.E.L.D., and the pitiful heroes who thought they had outfoxed him, find him in such a compromising situation with Romanoff, but there would be future opportunities for such things.

He watched her as she pulled her clothes back on, smiling gleefully at the amount of bruises he had inflicted upon her. Even with her clothing on, there were some still visible. Barton would definitely come to him now. Perhaps Stark too, if he clued into the fact that Loki had just corrupted Romanoff upon his expensive looking table.

"Join Selvig," he told her, dismissively, turning his back on her once more.

"Yes, my king," she replied.

He crossed to the glass window, a feral smirk twisting his lips at her words, listening to her receding footsteps. He wondered whether she would get with child after their tryst. It wasn't a prospect that delighted him, or that he hoped for, though it would infuriate her fellow agents that little bit further. If his seed should take root, she should feel honored to carry his child. Bearing the offspring of a ruler was an honorable thing in her position. She did have a fine body for whelping children; those wide hips of hers were made for such. Perhaps he would keep her with him, perhaps not. Perhaps he would grow wearisome of her company, and let her join her precious Clint Barton in death. There was always that tall, dark-haired agent Barton had called Maria Hill. He had seen the agent in the flesh only briefly, but in greater detail in Barton's mind. She was taller than Romanoff, and was slimmer, a dark-haired mortal beauty. Perhaps he would keep both women. A king could take lovers whenever he wished. Or pets. They could be his royal horses, his to mount and ride whenever he wished.

A resounding boom snapped him from his lusty thoughts. A wide macabre smile spread across his lips. They were here. Holding the scepter firmly in his hand, he marched outside. It was time. He stared out over the city for a moment. There was no turning back now. S.H.I.E.L.D., those who fought to protect the earth, and anyone who opposed him, would fall, and the mortals would drop to their knees before him. He hadn't lied to Romanoff. He _would_ be a merciful king.

Old words came back to him then. Old words he had spoken to Thor. _"I never wanted the throne, I only ever wanted to be you equal!"_ He smothered them with a growl. Everything in Asgard he had known had been a lie, Odin had lied to him about his very parentage, Thor had betrayed him. He was alone. He would show them all. Nevertheless, deep down, in the very pit of his heart, the guilt continued to gnaw away.


	4. Chapter 4: Anger

**Chapter 4: Anger**

New York City was in absolute shambles.

Upon the top of Stark Tower, dazzling blue light roared up into the sky. The sky had cracked open, revealing the deep dark void of space. From it poured a multitude of alien spacecraft. Loki's plan was already in full swing. From beside him, Steve leaned forward in his seat, gaping at the spectacle, his mouth parted in shock and awe. "Wow," was all he could muster.

Clint's fingers tightened on the Quinjet's steering wheel. "Well… shit," he replied. There was certainly nothing like a sight like that to deviate one from the task at hand. Clint had hoped to reach New York before Loki summoned the Chitauri. He wanted to find Natasha and break her from Loki's spell before the shit hit the fan. He huffed and flew the Quinjet with fierce determination to Stark Tower. Now, he'd have to deal with protecting the thousands of screaming, hysterical citizens, and taking out the alien forces before he could go in search for Nat. He hoped that some higher power was taking note of what was going down, and was planning to send them some further aid. He didn't want to be overwhelmed ad killed before he could find Natasha. He wouldn't leave her under Loki's influence.

Stark Tower was a huge, eye drawing building. In another calmer time he would have laughed to see Tony's name proudly displayed across the tower's structure. Now, his eyes were drawn to two figures fighting ferociously. Thor and Loki. Thor wielded his great hammer, swinging it at Loki, who parried the blow with his golden scepter. Bright sparks flew from each blow. Even from here Clint could see the impressive muscles in Thor's arms standing out as he swung the hammer at Loki again and again. His long blonde hair flew around his head with each swift movement. Loki was proving to be no slouch in the fighting department. His long ebony hair framed his pale face, his mouth warped into a wild animalistic snarl. His slender body twisted and weaved in a serpentine fashion each time he dodged Thor's attacks. He moved the scepter far more quickly than Clint's eyes could follow and swept Thor off his feet. He whirled to face the Quinjet, his dark Asgardian garb flowing around him.

"Let him have it, Cap," Clint growled, keeping his gray eyes locked onto the God before them.

Steve moved immediately. The howl of the guns was music to Clint's ears. It would probably be far too much to ask that the bullets slay Loki where he stood. In the back of his mind Clint almost hoped they didn't. He wanted the pleasure of killing, or at least defeating, Loki himself for daring to take Natasha. It was. The bullets simply peppered the air in front of Loki, before dropping harmlessly to the ground. The air turned a sharp bright blue where the bullets struck. Clint clenched him jaw, enraged. _'Son of a bitch cast some spell.'_ He heard Steve's growl of frustration beside him. _'Yeah, you and me both, Cap.'_

Loki pointed the scepter towards the jet. A blue light streaked from the end, slamming into the jet and making it sway and lurch alarmingly. A red light started flashing and a shrill warning alarm went off. No matter how tightly Clint gripped the steering wheel, the jet was out of control. It fell away from Stark Tower, twisting wildly in the air. It fell and rose like a bucking rodeo bronco. It rose up in the air again, past Loki who wore a satisfied smirk, and Thor who was regaining his feet and rushing back towards his brother, up to the top of the tower, where the beam of light was opening the portal. Steve let out a dismayed moan. Doctor Selvig had his back to them, staring up at the open portal, but someone else was with him, a cold smirk etched onto her lips. Clint only caught the slightest glimpse of Natasha's beautiful red mane, before the jet nose-dived back towards the ground.

Fiery anger coursed though his veins, threatening to burn him alive from the inside out. He threw his whole weight behind the wheel, gripping it with all his strength, trying to keep it from slamming into the many surrounding buildings or crushing the many terrified people below. It flew down low over the ground, shuddering violently. "Brace yourself, Cap," Clint bellowed, crouching low in his seat. The Quinjet hit the ground of the nearly abandoned street, sliding along the concrete with a bone-jarring quake. Cars were forced out of the way, some flipping over from the force, the remaining people running screaming to avoid being crushed.

The jet mercifully slid to a halt then. Steve gripped Clint's arm with the force of a vice. "Are you alright?"

Clint ripped off his belt. "Never better, Captain."

Stepping out of the jet onto the street and Clint's senses were besieged. He could smell things burning, hear the roar of explosions and people screaming, glass shattering, the buzz of alien aircraft and strange, unearthly shrieks. He could almost taste the fear and destruction on the air. He gripped his bow tightly while he swung his quiver over his shoulders. He stepped away from the smoking jet, running over to a bus filled with frightened people, Steve on his heels. His stomach roiled at the sight of the young children inside. Some were dry eyed, just shivering in terror, others were crying and cringing. It pissed him off that Loki was willing to destroy the lives of innocent people. He pushed open the small window, holding his hands out to those inside. The people streamed out, some running off with other people, others fleeing alone. The sight of those alone made him feel a pang of sadness. He and Steve spoke in soft calming voices to the scared citizens. They had to get everyone out before Loki's army came in for an attack.

'_Which is right about now.'_

The alien aircraft swooped down over them, sending the last citizens fleeing like rabbits before a pack of hounds. Aliens leapt down amongst them, firing at both Clint and Steve with their odd-looking guns held either in their awful looking hands, or mounted onto their spindly wrists. Steve easily blocked the blindingly bright purple rays with his shield, while Clint snuck around the bus wreckage to surprise the aliens creeping up behind it. His hands moved fast, firing arrows with deadly accuracy at the oncoming enemy. He electrocuted one group and blew up another, keeping a cold steely glint in his eyes. No matter how many he killed, more took the place of their fallen comrades.

He dived forward to meet them in closer combat, springing off of one foot to kick a charging alien in the head. It rolled onto its side, its mask falling lose. It faced Clint and shrieked. Clint felt his face screw up in disgust. "Damn, you're ugly." He brought his booted foot down hard, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction when he heard its skull crunch. He rolled out the way as another charged forward, loading yet another arrow and letting it fly into the creature's throat. The creatures continued to swarm forward. His patience was unraveling fast. Fighting these hideous aliens was attention diverting, but his mind kept going back to Natasha. How he wished she were here, battling alongside him. He didn't feel complete with Natasha missing all the action.

Fleet after fleet of the alien craft zipped through the air above him. Clint's muscles ached and seized up, but he kept fighting. The sooner he took down these things, the sooner he could try to rescue Natasha. An ear-splitting grinding bellow filled the air, and Clint's head snapped up just in time to see several monstrous… _things_ come down from the portal. They flowed through the air as if they were alive. _'Probably are,'_ Clint thought sourly, eyeing them apprehensively. _'That's gonna be a bitch to take down.'_ He watched as they descended upon New York, and aliens leapt off them onto surrounding buildings. _'Perfect.'_

He heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him, and turned to see Steve staring up at the ships with wide blue eyes. "You noticed those things too, huh, Cap?" he quipped. "Yeah, it's a bit hard to miss them."

Steve's eyes flickered down to Clint's. "We'll deal with it," he replied, though Clint noted that he sounded a tad unsure.

Clint sighed deeply. "I hope you're right, Cap."

Steve's eyes focused on something behind Clint and brightened in surprise. The sound of the motorbike had been lost over the sounds of chaos reverberating through the city. The man astride it was short, perhaps on a height with Clint, and he looked thoroughly disheveled. _'Bruce Banner: The Hulk.'_ Clint was momentarily in awe. The guy didn't look very powerful or threatening, but Clint knew what power Bruce held inside him.

An alien shriek filled his ears, and he whirled around to put an arrow between its eyes, but Thor beat him to it, crushing its head with his hammer. Clint nodded his thanks, just as Tony's slightly muffled voice filled his earpiece. He appeared in a sudden scarlet streak in the dusty sky, closely followed by one of the long serpentine ships. "Tell me that isn't a mouth I see on that thing," he whispered to himself.

The ship dropped low, following Tony. Cars were smashed out of its path, courtesy of the massive fins on each side. Bruce hulked out, muscles bulging and shredding his shirt as easily as tissue. He slammed into the front of the ship, his feet digging hard into the road. The ship rose up with a shrill crunch, before coming back down to rest with a dull bellow. _'Thank God I didn't have to take that one on.'_ It felt wrong to use the word 'God' in his position, given that they were trying to save the world from the rule of one, and Clint certainly wasn't a religious man, but they were quickly running out of time and options. If there was a higher power watching over them, Clint was more than ready to ask for a bit of help and offer up a word of thanks. He'd sure need it.

Tony landed heavily on the ground with a metallic clang, his visor flipping up to reveal his sweaty face. "Call it, Captain."

Steve raised his head, eyes sweeping over the men (and Hulk) assembled before him. "All right, listen up." His voice was loud and rich with authority. Despite his concern for Natasha, Clint felt a surge of respect for the man, and his fellow companions. They would need each other to get through this mess. "Until we can close that portal up there, what we need is containment." Steve's eyes turned to Clint. He jabbed his hand at a nearby building. "Barton: I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays."

Clint smiled. Excellent. He'd have the perfect vantage point from up there. Still, he felt a flutter of concern. The smile melted from his face. His team needed him. How, and when, could he get back to Stark Tower to find Natasha? She was his to rescue. He owed her. Grim determination seized him. He _would_ find her.

Tony turned to him, tearing him from his thoughts. "Better clench up, Legolas." Clint smiled despite his angst-ridden thoughts. This would save him from entering the perilous buildings. Tony's suit was cold against his skin, when he wrapped an arm around Clint's torso. When he blasted off from the road, the rush of wind caught Clint's face and hair. Really, it was almost fun. He probably would have enjoyed the experience more if he weren't so worried.

Tony let him down on top of the roof. From here, Clint had a grand view of his surroundings. Aliens aboard the spacecraft flew by rapidly, though not so fast that they could avoid his arrows. He fired and felt satisfaction with each explosion he heard. He didn't even need to look at them, using his keen ears to determine their location. He kept an eye on his teammates, shouting out information to them when they had aliens of their trail, or when there was an attack headed their way.

Clint didn't escape the notice of the aliens. They scampered up the side of the building, springing up to meet him. He met them in attack, punching and kicking, stabbing them with the sharp point of an arrow, or shooting the various arrows at them. He was starting to run low on supplies. He launched forward to barrel into one particular alien, swiping at its head. The armor they wore protected them to some extent, but left other parts of them wide open to a strike. He punched up under its jaw, making it reel back with a cry. Its mask fell askew, and it howled at him, twisted fury in its eyes.

"For all of us with good eyesight, and decent morals, please put your mask back on," he told it. "C'mon, you repulsive bastard, don't make me beg." The creature flew at him, its gun raised. Clint dived low, taking its legs out from underneath it. He kicked out and sent the alien tumbling off the side of the building. It screamed almost comically as it fell. "What?" he called down after it, "don't you like my witticisms?"

He reached back into his quiver. All but one of his arrows was gone, and the remaining arrow he was planning on keeping for Loki. For a microsecond his heart leapt into his mouth. The sky darkened ominously and bright lightening flashed above the Empire State Building. Thor sent the bolts flying amongst the Chitauri closest to him, effectively frying them. Clint's hand went to his earpiece. "I'm all out of ammo," he said to anyone listening. He paused for a moment before continuing with, "I'm going to Stark Tower. I need to get Natasha."

Silence rang in his ear for a minute before Steve's voice came over. "Clint, are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I need to, Captain. I promised."

Silence fell again, this time for so long Clint didn't think he would get a reply, before Steve replied, "Be careful, solider."

"Good luck, Barton," Tony's voice chimed in.

Clint took a deep breath. He didn't fancy taking to the streets below. More alien craft zipped by, and an idea came to him. He braced himself on the very edge, his muscles so tense he felt as though he was a gargoyle carved from stone. One of the aliens flew by him, so close Clint thought that the creature had meant to knock him off the building. He sprang with easy grace, landing on the back of the craft. The creature turned to him, a nearly human look of astonishment of its gruesome visage. Clint had to be careful now. The craft didn't steer well at all. The last thing he wanted was to crash before he reached his target. He burrowed his fingers into the extraterrestrial's shoulders, making it wail in pain. The craft wobbled in the air, jerking left and right. Clint kept his eyes fixed on the blue shaft of light above Stark Tower.

The tower grew closer and Clint's heart leapt as he caught sight of Natasha's red curls. He saw her eyes; veiled by Loki's spell, grow cold as he approached. The aircraft flew right at the light, and the machine Doctor Selvig stood before. The man turned in shock and surprise as the alien craft slammed into the beam of blue light. Clint threw himself off the craft a split second before impact. The alien wasn't quite so quick. A shield had been placed around the machine so when the craft plowed into it there was a deafening bang, and it was blasted back. Smoke streamed from it, and it dropped like a stone back to the ground far below. The alien didn't make a sound. Perhaps the impact had killed it. Clint didn't know. He didn't care.

'_Of course Loki would have put a shield up around the machine. Can't have things too easy now, can we?'_ He was here now. He could help both Natasha and Selvig. He paused a moment, the impact of falling had knocked the breath from his very lungs. He sat up with a weary groan, his body aching something brutal. Selvig lay unconscious on the ground beside his machine. Clint let out a shaky breath. _'Well, that was easy.'_

His thoughts were premature, and the higher powers decided he hadn't been roughed up enough for one day. A heavy blow struck his back, sending his sprawling face forward. The rough concrete bit into the soft skin of his cheek. He grunted in pain and tried to regain his composure, before another blow fell on him. He used his hands to spring forward, tucking and rolling. He got to his feet and faced Natasha.

And his heart stopped.

The zipper of Natasha's cat suit was pulled down enough for him to see the hickeys on the soft skin of her neck and chest. He stared, vacuous, for a moment. _'Loki.'_ That one simple thought was all it took. Rage like he had never known roared up inside of him. Not only had Loki taken Natasha, he had _taken_ her. Clint's hands balled into fists and his snarled in anger. _'I'll kill him.'_

Natasha saw the anger on his face, and her plump lips split into a glacial sneer. "Jealous, Clint," she whispered, fingering the largest hickey on the top of her cleavage.

The words that came from her lips weren't Natasha's. Clint knew that. He knew she was deep inside, trying to fight for control. Her fight was futile. He remembered enough from his possession to recall trying to fight Loki's control. Those were Loki's words that slipped from Nat's sweet lips.

"Shut up," he growled.

She laughed, her lovely smoky voice high and harsh. Her eyes… no, not hers, hers were exquisite… sparkled with malice. Those enchanted eyes were dire and sinister. "You should have heard her, Barton." Loki's poisonous words twisted Natasha's face. "How she moaned beneath me."

"Enough!"

"My king, she called me. Loki, my _king_."

"Shut the hell up!" He wouldn't leap into an attack. He knew that was what Loki wanted. In truth it wasn't Natasha he saw before him now, it was Loki. Well, Loki would be left disappointed. Clint wouldn't allow the mad Norse God to antagonize him. _'It is tempting, though,'_ some dark part of him thought. _'After what he has done to Natasha, it would be justice. You want to kill him anyway, why not show him that you're his better? Hit him where it hurts. Humiliate him. Let him get fought down by a mortal.'_ No. He wouldn't. As enraged as he was with Loki, he wouldn't take his fury out on Natasha. He didn't want to lose himself in his anger and do Natasha's body severe harm.

"This isn't you, Nat," he said, softly, using his pet name for her. He thought of something she had told him one. _"Men are fools for women."_ He didn't know what brought that thought on, but he supposed it was true. He had just jumped off a building to reach her. If that wasn't foolish what was? He wouldn't abandon her. He would fight to the very end to get his Natasha back.

Her eyes narrowed, though she still smiled. "Oh, but this is me, Clint." She moved forward just an inch, and Clint's inner alarm systems went off. He rushed forward just as she sprang, with all the lissome grace of a big cat.

They collided in mid-air together, dropping to the ground in a tangle of limbs and flesh. Natasha wrapped her thighs around his head, jerking them to snap his neck, a seductive move worthy of her code name. Clint grabbed her ankles, hauling her off her feet. She hit the ground with a grunt, and he took the chance to gain the upper hand. He held her down under his weight, his knees pressing against her stomach, his hands holding her upper body down.

"Fight it, Nat," he whispered to her.

Her head whipped back and forth. She spat like a provoked snake ready to strike. She hadn't been trained for nothing, and even Loki's mind control hadn't taken the knowledge of that training from her. She rocked her head back sharply, arching her body ever so slightly, her feet finding purchase on the ground. That was all she needed. She moved quickly, flipping Clint off of her. He tumbled across the roof. His foot came into contact with the wall of the stairwell, and he used it to lunge forward. He moved just in time, Natasha had been drawing her guns. He grabbed her arms, twisting them until she dropped them. She yowled in fury and pain, head-butting him in recompense. Her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing with all her strength. It pained him to hurt her, but it had to be done. He punched her in the gut. She slumped to the ground with a cry that tore him up inside.

A moan came from Selvig. He sat up, clutching his head. Clint kept an eye on Natasha's prone form as he scurried around to the man, snatching up Natasha's guns and pocketing them as he did so. Erik's face was a mess. His eyes were bloodshot, and the bags beneath his eyes were heavy and discolored. His hair was a disheveled mess. He mumbled something Clint couldn't understand. Clint grabbed his face, locking a desperate gaze with him. "What did you say, Erik?"

"The scepter," Selvig whispered, through cracked, dry lips. "The scepter."

Clint understood what he was trying to say. He nodded to show the desperate man he was following. "Where is it? Does Loki still have it? Where is he?"

Erik Selvig smiled. "I'm looking at it." He pointed to the balcony below.

Clint leaned over and his smile mirrored Selvig's. The scepter glittered on the ground. There was no one in sight. He straightened up, offering Selvig a hand, when the other male let out a warning cry. Clint yanked the man out of the way, turning and raising his hand just in time to block Natasha's punch. His hand curled around hers, and he pulled her towards him. It was something he had wanted to do since he had saved her life. There was no pleasure in it now. "I'm sorry, Nat," he whispered to her gently. He punched her with all his might, knocking the consciousness right out of her.

He carefully, and tenderly, placed her body against the wall. "Watch her," he told Selvig, who nodded wearily.

He had to move fast in case Loki tried to retrieve his scepter. Luckily, he encountered no one as he dashed down the staircase to the lower level. The scepter wasn't as heavy as it looked. The sun had warmed the gold, making it feel pleasant in his calloused hand. He held a finger up to his earpiece. "It's the scepter. The scepter will shut down the portal."

Steve's voice filled his ear, crackling with static. "Good work, Barton. Where is the scepter now?"

"Right in my hands, Captain."

"Not yet," Tony broke in, his voice constricted with fatigue and worry. That chilled Clint to the bone. "There's a nuclear missile headed straight for us."

The world felt as though it was about to reel away. Clint gazed over at Natasha. He should have said something, told her how he felt. Their end may very well be drawing in, and he had never said so much as a word to her. "What are we going to do?" he asked.

"I'll take care of the missile," Tony replied. "You shut down the portal."

"Will do. Best of luck, Stark."

He went to Natasha, bending down beside her and stroking the hair from her face. He knew Stark had the missile when he heard Doctor Selvig's gasp. He gazed adoringly at Natasha's face, thumbs stroking the apples of her cheeks. "I love you, Nat," he whispered. _'There you go, Barton. Wasn't that simple? Just four little words.'_ It had been simple, even though Natasha hadn't been conscious to hear him. It didn't matter. He'd finally said the words, and the weight of them had been lifted from him.

He regained his feet, standing before the portal, scepter at the ready. Tony flew up higher and higher toward the portal, and the open cavity of space beyond. He disappeared inside, and Steve shouted, "Now!"

Clint sank the scepter into the beam of blue light, putting his weight behind it to get it through the shield. The shaft of light sputtered, making a sickly rushing noise, before dying away. Selvig's machine stopped humming and fell silent. Clint cast his eyes to the heavens, Erik coming to stand beside him. "Come on, come on," he chanted quietly.

A deep rumble rang out dully above them. Whatever alien craft were coming down from the portal promptly exploded. Tony must have done it. _'But where is he?' _The portal began to close in on itself, the blackness of space being hidden away again. Clint's stomach clenched. Time seemed to crawl by, each second stretching out to an eternity. Then, just before the portal closed completely, Tony reappeared. Doctor Selvig exclaimed joyfully, but the sick feeling in Clint didn't let up. Something wasn't right. Tony was falling, not flying. Tony fell past his tower, and Clint closed his eyes, not wanting to see what happened. A slight breeze stirred up, ruffling Clint's hair. It felt almost obscene that something could feel so natural after everything he had witnessed and heard today. The seconds crawled by…

"He's alive!" Steve's voice coming in over his earpiece made Clint jump. He paused, not daring to believe what he had just heard.

"Say that again, Cap?" Clint's voice quavered so very slightly.

"Tony's alive, he's going to be ok," Steve repeated, voice heavy with relief.

Clint sighed deeply, repeating the message to Erik, who closed his eyes and looked as though he was praying. Clint made a mental note to do the same thing. Though he was not a religious man, he felt he should offer up a word of thanks to whatever higher power was watching over them. He was aching all over, trembling slightly, and more drained than he had ever been. And the day still wasn't over. They still had Loki to deal with. His army may have fallen, but there was no doubt in Clint's mind that Loki himself was still around. Anger flared up in Clint again. An arrow through the eye socket would be too humane a death for him. He had dared to touch Natasha, and Clint would see that he paid for it.

A soft moan made him turn sharply on his heels, the anger dissolving away into anxiety. Natasha moved on the ground slightly, murmuring a name too quietly for Clint to hear. He dived to the ground beside her, taking one of her small hands in his. "Nat?"

Natasha's eyes fluttered open.


	5. Chapter 5: Relief

**Chapter 5: Relief**

**A/N: Just a notice to say that the next chapter will be the last. Thank you to every person who has reviewed, and/or put this story on your favorites/alerts list. You're all doing a stand up job, guys!**

She struggled to open her eyes. Her head throbbed so appallingly it was as though someone was hammering a nail into her skull inch by inch. A low whimper escaped her lips. She wanted to clutch her pounding head, but her arms felt too stiff and heavy. Such pain she had not experienced in recent memory. Though… there was something there, just on the brink of her mind, the pain concealing it. A low menacing voice that she couldn't quite place just yet. Oh, how her head ached! Another whine slipped from her throat. She mustered up all the fortitude she could and forced her eyes open a crack. She caught a flash of green before her eyes closed again. Green. A memory of green eyes floated to the top of her mind. Thin lips, a cool touch. A name: Loki.

Everything came back in a sudden rush.

'_Oh, God,'_ Natasha thought, horror-stricken. She remembered _everything_! Her stomach lurched, and in desperation her body jerked upwards. Tears swam in her eyes, making it difficult to see. Her fingertips touched the hollow of a metal bowl, and she couldn't hold it back any longer. She vomited up everything in her stomach, which didn't seem to be much. Her throat burned and ached. The tears ran down her face. She trembled and quivered uncontrollably. She was dimly aware that someone was holding back her hair, and stroking her back. _'Loki!'_ She pulled away with a harsh gasp.

Clint stared back at her, eyes dull with concern. _'Clint, oh, Clint!'_ Despite her sour breath, she smiled and smiled at him, relief and joy spreading through her. "Clint!"

An uncertain smile spread across his lips. He took her trembling form in his arms, wrapping her in a firm, warm embrace. She melted into his arms, still trembling and trying to hold back her tears. She reviled feeling so weak, despite all that had happened to her. She felt like some precious storybook princess, pathetically weak, needing to be saved by her stupid, dull prince. She had never liked stories like those. She resented them. She could, and had always, taken care of herself, living a dangerous life, and keeping a steely spine. The tears tracking down her face only added to her feeling of frailty. Still, she didn't fight Clint's tender embrace. His hands stroked her hair. A hot flush of embarrassment spread through her. She couldn't stop the memories of Loki's touch, his kisses, how good he felt inside her, from perverting her thoughts. She bit her lip tight, and held Clint even more firmly.

Clint's hands went to her face. He made her look him in the eyes. Natasha tried not to flinch when she saw the guilt, grief, and fiery anger in his gray eyes. When he spoke though, his tone was gentle and soothing. "It's good to have you back, Nat."

She lowered her eyes. She didn't feel comfortable looking at Clint now. She felt humiliated and furious at being so easily enchanted by Loki. "Thank you, Clint," she replied, speaking truly from her heart.

"Of course, I couldn't leave you. I owed you. Besides, you and I are a team."

"Where are we?" She was in a very clean, clinical looking room. The medical bed she was on was far more comfortable than the ones in S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Stark Tower. The top got demolished, but the lower levels are intact. After we took Loki, Doctor Selvig and I brought you down here. Bruce looked you over, and I've been here waiting for you to wake up."

Natasha peered up at him through her long dark eyelashes. "I owe you."

Clint shook her head firmly. "Nah, you don't."

"I do," she insisted. "You could have killed me all those years back. You spared me. Now you've saved me again."

"After you saved me."

She pushed herself away from his muscled arms. "I had to," she snapped, her mixed emotions driving her to anger. "I couldn't just leave you like that. I… I fell so easily. I tried to fight him, but..." she broke off and lowered her head, her face hidden behind a curtain of red hair.

Clint grasped her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her face back up. "There was nothing you could do." His voice was firm, his eyes mirroring that. "Loki may be a twisted son of a bitch, but he is powerful. I fell just as easily. I'll have to live with that. I can't remember much of what I did, and no one will tell me, not that I actually want to know." His voice softened, and he brushed his thumbs under her eyes, brushing away the tears. "Don't beat yourself up, Nat."

"Where is he?"

Clint smiled grimly. "We've got him. The Hulk really did a fine number on him. I wish I could've been there to see him get his ass beat down. Everyone has been working on a way to keep him from trying any funny stuff."

Natasha smiled very faintly for a second, before her smile curdled and died away. "You've been here with me this entire time?"

Clint's smile sparked into something much more sweet. "Of course. Let them deal with Loki. I wanted nothing more than to put an arrow through Loki's eye socket. I broke Loki's spell over you, I was going to stay with you until you awoke again. I had to make sure that his… influence… over you was gone completely."

Natasha placed her small hands on Clint's. She wanted to thank him, to tell him how much that his loyalty meant to her, but she couldn't get the words out. "So, what's going to happen to Lo… to _him_?"

Clint's eyes burned. "Thor is taking him back to Asgard to face punishment there." From the tone of his voice, Natasha deduced that Clint wasn't at all happy with that decision. No doubt he wanted to serve justice with his own hands, or at least with his own bow and a single arrow. It was almost enough to make her laugh.

"When?"

"Today. You've been out for a day-and-a-half. The others had to assemble Loki's ball and chain." He smirked at that. Oh yes, he was enjoying knowing that Loki had been defeated and was suffering. Natasha would too after what he had done to her.

"Good."

Clint's eyes narrowed. "You're staying here, Nat."

"No, I'm not."

"You need to rest, Nat!"

"According to you, I've rested for a day-and-a-half. I've had plenty of rest. I'm going."

"I can see how much you're hurting. Believe me, I know how shitty you feel. Stay here and get some rest. You need it."

She grabbed his wrists. Her voice was sharp and precise. "I. Am. Going. With. You. Do not try to stop me." She couldn't voice why exactly she wanted to go. "I need to see him leave. After what he has done to the two of us, I need to see him leave." She wanted to look him in the eyes. She wanted Loki to see that she didn't fear him. He'd see the steel in her eyes, and know that he no longer had any power over her. What he had done to her, she'd put behind her along with all the other dark, grievous things she had experienced in her life. She used those things to fire her determination and drive for her job. It was those things that burned inside her, and made her strive to be such a deadly agent. She didn't want to be weak.

Clint stared at her for a long moment. His gray eyes were clouded with something Natasha couldn't decipher. Finally, he nodded. Natasha took his hands in hers and touched her forehead to his. He gave her a quick hug before releasing her, and picking up the bowl she'd retched in. "Oh, no, Clint. Leave that. You aren't my maid." Natasha felt embarrassed all over again.

"No," he turned to look over his shoulder at her as he headed out the door, "I've got it. Take it easy, Nat. I don't mind." He nodded to the chair where he had been sitting. "There are fresh clothes there for you." His eyes searched her face, but he didn't speak. He gave her a gentle smile, before walking out the door; shutting it behind him to give her some much needed privacy.

Natasha swung her legs up off the bed. They were shaking badly. Pins and needles ran through her limbs, adding to her discomfort. She gathered up her clothes and went into the large, airy bathroom. Tony Stark really knew how to make a comfortable space, though she didn't expect anything less from a man like him, the bathroom smelled fresh and was spotless, she was relieved to see. She carefully set down her clothes on the toilet lid. Clint had been considerate, and folded her clothes neatly. She didn't want to wreck that. She turned and stood before the long mirror, staring long and hard at her reflection. She didn't look as bad as she had expected. Her face was drawn and pale, her hair was a ragged mess, but that was the worst of it, on the outside at least. Inside, she felt dirty and torn.

Her hands splayed out on either side of the sink. She leaned in so close to the mirror that her breath misted against the glass. She couldn't help but laugh then. Clint had applied makeup to the skin beneath her eyes. She couldn't picture Clint applying makeup to her unconscious body. He had done quite a good job. She could just make out the tidemarks against her skin, where it hadn't been patted in. She craned her neck; there was more makeup there. Her heart twisted horribly. _'Oh, hell, he knows.'_ With trembling hands, she peeled off her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. Clint hadn't taken care of these marks. Bruises littered her pale skin. She recalled Loki leaving those marks there. She shuddered, and her stomach turned. She bent over the sink, gagging, but nothing came up.

She ripped her costume off, turning away from the mirror to avoid seeing the evidence of Loki's sick touch on her body. She pulled on the clothes Clint had brought her, pleased with his thoughtfulness and choice of attire. A mustard yellow jacket, a black tank top and another orange one, tight black jeans, and black ankle length boots. Not too flashy, but made for comfort. They covered up the bruises Loki had left on her torso too. A small black purse had been tucked into the jacket. She turned back to the mirror, keeping her eyes lowered. A few makeup items were inside, liquid foundation, concealer, loose powder, a peach colored lipstick, a hairbrush, and a few makeup brushes and sponges. Natasha never really wore a lot of makeup, but there were always the occasions where she had to look her seductive best, and it always helped to cover bruises, scars or evidence of a late night.

She applied the makeup quickly before examining her reflection again. She combed her hair out, wincing every time she snagged a knot. She kept at it until her hair fell in sleek bouncy waves around her face, soft to the touch. Her stomach tied in loops, her heart hammered, and her mouth felt dry. Loki was leaving. Thor was taking him back to Asgard. She felt a flutter of nervousness at the thought of seeing Loki again _'No,'_ she reprimanded herself. _'You're strong. You can face him. He'll see the steel in your spine and the boldness in your eyes, and he'll know you don't fear him.'_

"I can," she told her reflection, voice firm. "I'm not afraid of him." Such pep talks didn't make her feel weird in the slightest. Rather, they solidified her, and made her feel better whenever she was feeling down. "I am Natasha Romanoff," her voice dropped to a whisper, "and I am not afraid."

Only then did she pack everything away, carefully wash her hands and leave the bathroom, clutching the cosmetics bag in her hand. She was a tad unsure as to where she was supposed to go now. She'd only been to the top level of Stark Tower. Luckily, Clint was waiting right outside the door for her. He gave her a once over, smiling lightly. "You look lovely," he commented.

She returned his smile. "Thanks to you. Where are we meeting?"

"Central Park."

She smiled and opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of heavy footfall. Thor was striding down the hall, his handsome face shrouded with unhappiness, his hands twisting his great hammer giving a noticeable sign to his misery. He glanced up and caught sight of the pair, a drained smile on his face. He inclined his great head to them. Natasha felt her eyes widen at the sight of such a gesture.

"Natasha Romanoff, I am sorry for all my brother has put you through." Thor's voice was uncertain, as though he had to struggle to voice his thoughts. There was loneliness to him that saddened Natasha.

She nodded. "Thank you." She halted, unsure whether on not to voice the next line. The misery in Thor's blue eyes drew the words out. "I hope for your sake that your brother can find redemption."

Clint stirred beside her, but wasn't foolish enough to do or say anything. It was clear to Natasha, however, that he was not the least bit happy with what she had just said. Thor smiled at her, though; even the most callous hearts would have broken upon seeing the misery and reverie in that smile. "I have hope for such, too." He bowed his head again to both Clint and Natasha. "I am honored to have fought beside you, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff." Clint inclined his head politely, watching when Thor went on his way to fetch his brother.

Natasha watched him go, her heart going out to him. "C'mon," Clint muttered, gently touching her elbow.

Clint led the way, leading her down to a fancy car in the parking garage below. It didn't look familiar, so Natasha assumed it belonged to Tony. The man's choice of cars was as stylish and comfortable as his building. It had plenty of legroom, so she stretched her body out, gazing out the window as Clint drove. She tossed the cosmetics bag down at her feet. The view outside wasn't pleasant. Many buildings had been destroyed, and the streets were clogged with people moving debris, and sidewalks filled with people either watching or grieving. The walls of buildings were covered with pictures of those who had died, or were missing. Even from here Natasha could see the tears of those mourning. She squirmed guiltily.

"Don't." Natasha gazed at Clint in surprise. His gray eyes were focused on the road. "Don't you feel guilty for what he did."

She bit her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. "I can't help it," she admitted.

"I know," Clint's voice was tinged with sadness and guilt. "I know how you feel, but I hate seeing you so bothered."

She felt more comfortable with Clint than anyone else. Even now, with all the complicated feelings niggling at her, she felt safe and contented with him. She saw how tightly he clutched the gear stick. She placed her hand on top of it, stroking his skin. He allowed her to do so for a minute before pulling his hand away, reaching into his jacket. She felt a momentary flutter of shock and hurt before she saw just what he was holding out to her. "I thought you'd need this," he explained, a smile quirking up the corner of his lips.

She took her wallet from him, chuckling. "Thanks for that, too." She did need money, though she didn't feel comfortable talking about why even to Clint. She kept a look out until she saw what she was after. "Will you please pull over?"

Clint did so, watching her carefully, his eyes bright with concern. "Sure, Nat." He took her hand in his, making her look at him. To his credit, and Natasha's everlasting thanks, he didn't say a word. He simply gave her hand a tender squeeze and let her go.

Natasha walked into the pharmacy, her guts writhing like live snakes. The place was empty. Natasha didn't doubt that the events Loki and his army had caused would be a dream come true for drug companies. The sale of Valium and similar tablets would be going through the roof. Natasha silently counted herself lucky that she wasn't after such products. She browsed the shelves carefully, glad that she had the place to herself. The business had clearly been abandoned during the attack on New York. She hoped that the owners and employees had survived the events. She found what she was after and slipped into the employee bathroom at the far back of the store. She opened the small box of emergency contraceptive pills, slipping one into her mouth and swallowing it down. She resisted the urge to pop the rest like Tic Tacs.

She cupped her hands under the sink, taking a sip of water to wash the pill down. She hid the pills in her jacket. She didn't want _anyone _finding them. She stared at herself in the mirror. She hoped the pills worked. She couldn't imagine herself as a mother. She didn't really have motherly instincts. She tried to picture herself with a big belly, or feeling her unborn child move within her, and she shuddered. She especially didn't want Loki's baby. Seeing the child every day and having a physical reminder of what had happened between her and Loki would be too much to bear.

She left the pharmacy, slapping a twenty on the counter as she left to appease her guilt. She slid back into the car, noting that Clint was carefully avoiding her gaze. She was bowled over by how tactful he was being. She didn't want to discuss what she had gone into the pharmacy for. Clint knowing what happened was bad enough. Hell, he probably knew what she had just gone in for. If that topic ever rose between them, she dreaded how it would go down. She wondered if she would be able to keep her equanimity talking about such a thing with Clint.

The others had already arrived by the time Natasha and Clint pulled up. Clint turned to Natasha with a questioning look on his face. Natasha simply cocked an eyebrow. He knew what that meant and he didn't argue with her. A breeze stirred, sending up fallen leaves to bluster around the legs of the assembled. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents dressed in head-to-toe black surrounded the area, in order to keep back curiosity seekers. Thor led his brother forward, and Natasha felt her spine stiffen. She made sure she kept her face as still and impassive as glass. Loki wore a bright silver contraption, so like a dog's muzzle, around his mouth. Chains hung from his hands and feet. _'How fitting,'_ Natasha reflected, eyeing the muzzle and chains.

Doctor Selvig strode forward with a case in his hands. He set in upon the ground and Thor drew the Tesseract out from within it. Natasha tried with all her might not to blanch at the eerie blue light. Memories blew through her mind at warp speed. She fought hard to stop them. Loki's control may have slipped, but she didn't want him to see such thoughts in her mind, if indeed that was still in his power, and think that she had enjoyed their tryst. Loki was standing in such a way that he was looking right at her. Even with such demeaning objects on his person, Loki's green eyes were bright with mischief. He stared right at her, and Natasha was positive that behind that restraint the bastard was smiling. He wouldn't get so much as a scrap of emotion from her.

Thor approached Loki, extending the Tesseract to him. An idea came to Natasha and she leaned in close, whispering in Clint's ear, never once breaking eye contact with Loki. It was almost childish of her, but after what he had put her through, she felt she could take this one opportunity to one-up Loki. "It's too bad, I was hoping I'd get the chance to see you put an arrow through his eye socket." She made sure to keep a smug smile on her lips.

Clint didn't say one word, but Natasha saw the smirk on his face, on par with hers. Let Loki interpret that how he will. His gaze never wavered, nor did the cunning glint in it. She hated him for what he had done not only to Clint, Agent Phil Coulson, and herself, but the countless people that lost their lives during Loki's attack on the city. Still, there was some small part, hidden deep inside her, that felt sympathetic towards him. She cursed herself for being foolish, but he looked almost as lost as his brother. She wasn't sure why she was feeling this way. Some hazy memory when she had been under his control, a haunted look in his bright green eyes. _'You're getting too tender hearted, Natasha,'_ she thought irritably. _'He killed Phil. He would have made Clint kill you, or make you kill Clint. He violated you, so why do you feel any sympathy for him?_' She had no answer to that. After all she had seen in her life, she didn't really believe in second chances. Perhaps she hoped for Thor's sake. It was obvious that Thor loved his brother. She remembered how much she had grieved for Clint, when he had been lost to her. Perhaps that was how Thor was feeling. He had helped defend Earth. Yes, she hoped for Thor's sake that there was still hope for Loki.

Only when Thor thrust the Tesseract forward did Loki's eyes break away from hers. His shoulder heaved, almost in a put out sigh, and he took the handle in hand. There was a bright flash, in which Loki's eyes flickered back to Natasha's. His eyes gleamed brightly, an unreadable expression in them, and, just like that, Loki and Thor were gone. Relief flowed through Natasha, a feeling she hadn't been aware she'd held.

She watched as the rest of the gang turned to each other, shaking hands and saying their farewells. Each of them would be going their separate ways now. Natasha would join them in a minute. She turned to the entrance of the park. The breeze brought to her the sweet scent of flowers. She closed her eyes, sniffing at the lovely aroma. She hated how vulnerable Loki had made her feel. He had known her in the most intimate way a man could know a woman. He'd taken so many lives. He had almost taken Clint. _'Almost.'_ She opened her eyes, her relief blossoming a true smile across her full lips. She walked back to the group, shaking hands and saying her goodbyes. She watched them depart, Tony and Bruce together in an extravagant red sports car and Steve on his trendy vintage motorbike.

She stood side by side with Clint. For just a second, their hands met, fingers curling around each other. The fresh breeze ruffled their hair and clothes. It was almost peaceful. Now she just had to question whether or not she was ready to face her feelings for her companion.


	6. Chapter 6: Peace

**Chapter 6: Peace**

They checked into a Motel 6, the sky starting to redden as dusk approached. The high volume of people flocking to the Big Apple meant that most hotels and motels were completely booked out. They had visited a dozen before reaching this motel. Natasha was all for sleeping in the car, but Clint wouldn't hear of it. No matter how many times she insisted she had all the rest she needed, Clint would refuse to listen. He could be damn stubborn when his mind was set on something, especially when that something had to do with her health or safety. It was actually almost sweet.

The girl behind the counter was all of twenty-one. Her long blond hair streamed down her back in a messy ponytail, and her odd colored eyes regarded Clint with interest. The one blue eye and the one brown eye glowed when Clint approached the counter. She tossed her head and straightened her back to make her breasts stand out. She pouted her lips, and fluttered her eyelashes. Natasha groaned inwardly, trying not to roll her eyes at the girl's clumsy seduction techniques. Clint gave her half a weak smile for a microsecond. The girl's sexy pout vanished instantly.

"Do you have any rooms available?" Clint enquired.

The girl, who's nametag read _Charlene_, looked quite put out at Clint's lack of interest. "Just one," she answered, huffily. "A single room with double beds. Room twelve"

"We'll take it," Clint replied, while he pulled out a wad of cash. Charlene gave Natasha a cold look. Natasha shot the girl her most piercing glare. The girl blanched and looked away quickly. Clint had been nearly silent since they had left Central Park, Natasha didn't know why. She thought it had something to do with what she had said to Thor, but the question remained poised in her mind.

"Thank you for choosing Motel 6," Charlene all but spat, once Clint and Natasha turned their backs on the counter. "And have a nice day."

Natasha smiled dangerously sweet over her shoulder, fixing the girl with a level gaze. "Thank you," she replied. The girl obviously wasn't so dim that she missed the acidic undertone in Natasha's voice. She hurriedly hid her face, and went back to her work. Natasha knew it was puerile of her, but it also gave her sense of self-satisfaction. There was nothing like taking arrogance down a peg to make one feel better in a time of melancholy and confusion.

When they reached room twelve, Clint opened the door with the keys, and stood aside to let Natasha in first. It was a closely packed room; there was not a whole lot of space to move in, but it was comfortable enough. Clint excused himself, and left the room again, giving Natasha free rein to explore the room. The bathroom was small, and while not as clean or fancy as the one in Stark Tower, it was well lit, with a glass-encased shower. The beds were very soft, the mattress sagged heavily when she sat down upon it, and the sheets were clean and a crisp white. The air was fresh and lightly perfumed with a lemon fragrance. Natasha flopped back on the bed, her head on the crescent shaped pillow. A lassitude was starting to seep through her to her very bones. The day's events had proved draining after all.

Clint came back into the room, two heavy bags in either hand. Natasha sat up as he held one out to her. "What's this?"

"I packed a bag for you," Clint explained, sitting down on the opposite bed with an exhausted groan. "I retrieved it from the Quinjet before S.H.I.E.L.D came by to cart the wreckage away."

Natasha smiled, touched by Clint's foresight, and his thoughtfulness. Of course, S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't want any civilians getting their hands on, or exploring, any of the alien craft. The question must have been in her eyes for Clint continued to speak. "I called S.H.I.E.L.D. after Loki was taken away, and after I'd taken care of… well, you. They came immediately, before any civilians could come back to scrounge amongst the rubble."

Natasha nodded, pawing through her bulging black duffle bag. Clint really had thought ahead. He'd packed most of everything she needed: Fresh clothes, hosiery, lingerie, toiletries, several pairs of shoes, and, buried right at the bottom, her guns. "Thanks, Clint," she murmured.

"No problem." Clint's voice was flat. He crossed to the window, staring out at the gradually darkening sky. "You can have the first shower."

Natasha opened her mouth to say something, _anything_, but decided against it. She'd have a much-needed shower first, and then get down to business with finding out what was going on with Clint. She pulled out her toiletries bag, some lingerie, and the black crop top and shorts combo she slept in. Of course her sleeping gear had to be black, that was her signature shade.

She put her clothes in the cupboard beneath the sink, to avoid them getting wet with stray drops from the shower. Her toiletries bag she opened, tipping the contents on the counter. A toothbrush, a minute tube of toothpaste, and a matching bottle of mouthwash were normal enough. She was surprised though to see a bottle of French vanilla perfume and a bottle of fruit scented shampoo. She pulled off her clothes, stepping into the glass-encased shower. The scalding hot water felt terrific against her skin. She tipped her head back, letting the water rush down her face and cleanse her skin of all her makeup. The fruit scented shampoo Clint had packed was delightful. The smell invigorated her, and made her stomach growl with hunger. The complimentary soap didn't have a noticeable smell, but it felt wonderful to lather up against her skin. There was little better than the feeling of being clean again after a particularly bad day.

The room was filled with steam by the time Natasha stepped out of the shower. She enclosed her curvaceous body in one of the small white motel towels. A delicious smell of hot food made her stomach rumble and growl loudly. She dressed quickly, spraying her neck, breasts, wrists and armpits with perfume to fully complete her feeling of cleanliness. She ruffled her hair with the towel to dry it somewhat, before tossing the sodden towel over the shower door.

Clint was sitting on her bed, several pizza boxes piled up beside him. "I didn't want to start without you," he said, seeing her raise an eyebrow.

She smiled her thanks, accepting the bottle of cola he handed her, before diving fervently into the top pizza box. The simple cheese pizza looked heavenly. She hadn't realized she was so damn hungry. She ate slowly, knowing that she'd regret it if she scoffed the pizza down. She washed the food down with the soft drink. The cola left a tingle on her taste buds. Clint took the pepperoni pizza, occasionally offering her a slice, or taking a slice of her pizza. It was very comfortable, just sitting here eating with Clint beside her. They were free to go on their way now. Natasha didn't know if they would return to S.H.I.E.L.D., or continue on their own way until the Avengers were needed again. _'A holiday would be welcome,'_ she thought as she ate. _'It's been such a long time.'_ She'd truly never cared about taking time off before. She was completely dedicated to her job, but the prospect of spending uninterrupted time with Clint did thrill her. She cursed inside. _'I'm going to have to address that sooner rather than later.'_

They both managed to consume all but one of the pizzas. Natasha reclined against the bed, feeling full and content. Clint packed them on a chest beside the door, before turning to face her. Her heart lurched, but Clint simply walked past her, gathered up some items from his bag, and went into the bathroom. Natasha exhaled heavily, slapping her face into her hands. Now she was alone with her feelings. She hated that. _'Does Clint feel this way?'_ She pondered that. He'd never indicated that he felt any romantic feelings towards her. That would make things all the more complex if he harbored no love for her. _'Love. Oh, hell. Is that really how I feel?'_

"_Love is for children,"_ she had told Loki. Now, she wondered if she'd been lying to him, or herself. Or both. She couldn't do her job efficiently if she was in love. Or could she? A good spy was never a slave to their emotions. Natasha sure had that down pat. Perhaps she'd been too harsh on herself. Love was a natural emotion after all. It sure complicated things, as she had discovered when Clint had been taken. _'So why can't you admit it?'_ a little voice hissed in her mind. It might be because Clint might not return her feelings. How could she possibly work alongside him if she told him she loved him and he didn't return her feelings? How could she possibly look him in the eye?

She let out a growl of frustration. She leapt to her feet and started to pace across the room, back and forth. Thins was why she hated feelings. They complicated absolutely everything. _'Or do they?'_ the voice cooed again. _'Perhaps feelings are simple, it's just you setting hurdles for yourself.'_ She stopped dead in her tracks. There was something about that train of thought that virtually lifted a great weight from her. Or maybe she just sought comfort there because thinking like that was the easy way out. Damn, she _hated_ this! Her fist lashed out and smashed into a corner of the wall. Pain bloomed across her hand. She grunted at the pain, a sensation of deep satisfaction at the pain was a more familiar friend.

"Natasha?"

Natasha spun towards the bathroom, cursing. She hadn't heard the shower stop, let alone Clint open the door. His gray eyes were widened and filled with questions. She held her aching hand by her side, balling it to increase the pain. "I didn't hear you," she answered, lamely. She grimaced as soon as the words left her tongue, wishing she had held her silence.

"What are you doing?" Clint's hair was disheveled, and damp. He was clad only in a pair of black shorts. Natasha tried not to stare at his bare chest, or the myriad of scars that puckered his flesh.

"Nothing," she replied, gritting her teeth. "What is going on with you, Clint? Since we left Central Park you haven't said more than ten words to me. You act like you don't even want to be in the same vicinity as me."

Clint's eyes narrowed. He approached her, carefully taking her hand in his, examining the red flush across her knuckles. He held her hand between his. Natasha pulled away, crossing back to her bed and sitting down. Her head was swimming with confusion, and she wasn't happy at all. Clint followed, sitting down beside her. His leg brushed hers, and her skin promptly erupted into goose bumps. She fought the urge to rub her skin, not wanting to draw Clint's attention to the obvious effect he had on her.

"I don't understand why you said you wanted _him_ to find redemption."

'_Ah, so I was right.'_ She found no satisfaction in that now. "I said it for Thor."

Clint looked surprised. "For Thor?"

Natasha kept her gaze on the pattered carpet. She didn't want Clint to detect anything in her eyes. "Yes, I remembered how I felt when you were taken by Loki. Thor looked the same way: lost… and… lonely."

She heard Clint's breath stop, and she couldn't stop herself from stiffening. She plowed on, determined now. "I felt sorry for him. I knew how he felt. I said what I said to mollify him. Maybe Loki can be redeemed, maybe not."

Clint snorted. "He doesn't deserve it."

Natasha didn't answer. She couldn't find a way to voice how she truly felt on the matter. Clint's fingers curled into a fist. Finally, she whispered, "That isn't for us to decide."

"After everything that bastard did to us. He killed Phil! He killed thousands of people. He tried to take over the world, and he... he…" Clint shook his head, unable to summon the words from his throat. He didn't need to; Natasha knew exactly what he meant. She could hear the pain in Clint's voice.

"I understand. I know what he did. I remember, and I will never forget. But I'm not going to cry about it. That's what Loki would have wanted: to break me. To know that he could bend me to his whim and will." She touched Clint's bare leg. "What has happened has happened. We can't change that, Clint. We just have to keep moving, and doing what we do. When the Avengers are recalled we will be there. That's our job."

Clint's hand joined hers. He squeezed her fingers lightly. Natasha bent her head to his shoulder. "You wanted to kill him."

"Of course." He raised her head slightly so he could look her in the eyes. "Did you think I was going to snap at the park and try to do him harm?"

Natasha smiled. "No, I knew you weren't that reckless."

Clint's smile emulated her own. "Damn right. I would have had to get past Thor, Steve, Tony and Bruce. And you. And if I had managed to slip past the five of you, S.H.I.E.L.D. would've taken me down." A soft chuckle rumbled up from his chest. Natasha felt the tremor of it against her skin.

"You wouldn't have made it past Thor," she teased.

Clint grinned at her. "Hey! Give me a little credit here. I doubt that hammer of his would have improved my health and well-being, though."

They both fell silent, the only sounds coming from the traffic outside. It was comforting here, Natasha's hand on Clint's leg. She tucked her head under his, their bodies pressed up in close contact. Clint's breath stirred her still slightly damp russet hair. She felt herself shiver, her skin breaking out into goose pimples again. Clint's hands released hers, and he wrapped his arms around her. "Nat?"

She shifted her head so she could meet his eyes. "Yes, Clint?"

"You woke on the roof of Stark Tower, just for a minute. You said something, but I didn't catch what it was. Do you remember?"

She inhaled deeply. She was about to venture into deep water here, from which she couldn't turn back. _'No more, no longer, I'm done with this evasiveness.'_ "Yes." She paused for a second, meeting his gray eyes dead on. "I said your name, Clint. I remember seeing you, but I didn't know if you were really there or not. _Clint_," She spoke his name again; savoring how easily it slipped from her tongue.

Clint's arms tightened around her, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned in and gently placed a chaste kiss on her lips. Natasha's hands rose to wrap around his neck. They broke apart after a few seconds. Natasha could feel the slight tingle of Clint's lips on hers. It had been such an innocent, almost virginal, kiss, but it was the finest she'd ever received. He smiled tenderly, placing another kiss on her forehead. "Welcome back, Nat."

He fell back, lying flat on his back. Natasha curled up beside him, her head on his chest, her index finger skating around on his muscled chest, brushing over the puckers of scars. She felt Clint seize up for a moment, before he relaxed. She could feel the tight coils of muscle beneath his skin. It was very peaceful. Her head rose and fell every time Clint breathed, she could hear the tranquil beating of his heart. His fingers ran through her hair. After everything that had happened, this was a welcome interlude. Their bodies fit perfectly together.

"What are we going to do now?" Natasha asked. A roguish smile lit up Clint's face, completed by a quizzically raised eyebrow. Natasha laughed and slapped a hand down on his bare chest. "I meant, are we going to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. or are we going to take some time off."

Clint closed his eyes, still stroking her hair. He sighed deeply in contentment. "After all that we've been through we deserve some time off." He opened his eyes and sat up, bringing Natasha up with him. "Don't you want some time off?"

Her eyes flickered to the window. Night had fallen, and bathed the room in its darkness. Only the sickly orange glow of a streetlight kept the room from being plunged into total darkness. She looked back to Clint, who was watching her patiently. "I love what I do, but…"

"… I love what we do, too," Clint interjected, "but I feel we deserve some time off. We can go back, but I…"

"You what?"

"I… I just want some time alone with you." Anyone else would have blushed and dropped their eyes; Clint's gaze never wavered.

'_There it is.'_ Clint didn't need to expand on that. Natasha knew what he meant, and she felt a surge of relief. And frustration. She didn't know how to voice her thoughts, or how to articulate how she truly felt. The words stuck to her throat like caramel. She swung her legs over to straddle him, her knees pressing against his hipbones. She set her hands on his shoulders, her position giving her a tad more height. She worried at the inside of the bottom lip with her teeth. "Clint, I don't know… _God_, I don't know how to…"

Clint kissed her throat, so very gently nipping at her skin. She shivered violently. "You don't know how to put it into words. You can't voice your feelings in a coherent way. No matter how deeply, and genuinely, you feel, there just aren't the right words to communicate those thoughts."

She chuckled. "Exactly."

Clint's hands gripped her hips, the ball of the thumbs circling her hipbones. "I understand, Natasha. Believe me, I do. How do you voice something that has been troubling you for so long? Especially when you have learned to completely mask your feelings. It's part of our job. You can't make it if you're a slave to your emotions, so we bury ours. Then, once we find we need to give voice to them, we stumble over our words, and our minds can't summon the perfect words."

He said it all so well. Natasha had never heard Clint speak in such an eloquent fashion. She really was seeing a whole other side to him, a more sensitive side. She had always felt completely herself around Clint. She didn't need to hide anything around him. He understood her well. His mind was as sharp as his eyes, and he was right. In their line on work, it wasn't safe or smart to be such an emotional person. Emotions ate you alive, and destroyed you, leaving you an empty, ruined shell. They witnessed too much, and did too much, to allow their emotions free rein. Now, though, they weren't with S.H.I.E.L.D., they were alone together, for how long neither of them knew. Their body language was already betraying their inner most thoughts. Their minds and mouths were just too slow to catch up.

Clint spoke not a word during Natasha's silence. For that she was grateful. Her mind needed the time to sort itself out. Her thoughts were all in a jumble, and she didn't know how to work through that. She'd always considered herself a sharp woman, and it was alarming how something so basic could prove to be so problematic, and thought consuming. All her hard years of training and work had left her taciturn to matters such as these at hand. Still, she was here now, and Clint was in the very same position as she. She wasn't going to turn back now.

Slowly, she bent her mouth to Clint's. This kiss was filled with more passion. Their mouths joined, their hands cradling each other. Their tongues met, dancing around each other. Their breathing grew heavier. Clint lay back down, dragging Natasha with him. She loomed over him, propping herself up on her forearms. Clint moved fluidly, flipping her onto her back, his hands gripping her narrow waist hard. When they broke apart both were breathing hard. Clint bent so close to her that the tip of their noses touched.

"You're a fine kisser, Clint," Natasha whispered.

Clint smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. He kissed down her jaw line to her neck. He paused once he got there, breathing in the smell of her perfume. "You too. A _damn_ fine kisser." He buried his head in the curve of her neck again, inhaling loudly. "You smell divine."

She chuckled breathlessly. "I wish I could say the same about my breath." She gazed up at him, rubbing the small of his back. He stopped nuzzling her neck and went back in for another kiss.

"Your breath smells fine," he commented, once he had pulled away.

"It doesn't," Natasha replied, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. Ah, hell. Her weariness was starting to show. Clint heaved himself off her, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet.

They brushed their teeth together, Clint holding Natasha against him. It was so close to being a domestic scene. They stared at their reflections once they were finished. Clint's hands held Natasha's. He was only an inch or two taller than her, so it was easy for her to recline against his body, her hip curling into his. His hand went to her lower back, gently sweeping in calming circles. "This is nice," she said. She surprised herself with her words. Without thinking about it she had just voiced something she had been stressing about. _'And perhaps that's the key. I've been over-thinking all of this. We both have.'_

"Yeah," Clint's voice was brimming with affection. He lifted her up, supporting her buttocks with his hands. She wrapped her legs tightly around him as he carried her back to the bed. He set her back down against the blankets, before crossing to the curtains and pulling them closed, plunging the room into total darkness. Natasha fumbled with a bedside lamp, switching it on, and throwing the room back into view again. Clint stood over the bed, looking down at her.

She almost felt shy under his watchful gaze. It was a day made for strangeness apparently. "What?"

He sat down carefully beside her, running his fingers through her hair, down her face and down her torso. It wasn't a lecherous gesture. His fingers were feather light, barely touching her. "You're beautiful," he told her quietly.

She had been told many times over that she was a beautiful woman. Most modern day men didn't use such fine terminology. They seemed to think that the rougher and dirtier their words, the more she'd be flattered. She had never felt so flattered, or touched, by any man before. Those two words from Clint's mouth warmed her inside, and brought a smile to her face that she had never worn previously. "Thank you, Clint." She spoke from the depths of her heart. She took his hand and kissed his knuckles. She braced herself, one more step and she would fall in the precipice. It was a step she was _finally_ ready to make. "I love you."

Instead of looking joyful, Clint looked anguished. His reaction startled Natasha. "You shouldn't. God," he twisted his hands together, "I should have fought harder. I let him take me. I tried to hurt you. I let him _take_ you." He brushed the bruises on her collarbone. "That's my fault. I..." The agony on his face ripped at her.

Natasha silenced him with a tender kiss, rising up on her knees to reach his face. "Hush. Let's not talk about that. There's nothing to talk of. What happened is in the past. Loki is gone, and I'm here now with you, Clint. I love you." She said each word loudly and carefully. She kissed him again. "I love you."

Clint allowed himself to smile. "I love you too, Nat."

A smile spread across her lips. _'And that is that.'_ "I think that receptionist girl would have liked to hear those words from you."

Clint grinned, shaking his head. "Who would choose a girl over you?"

Natasha lowered herself back onto the mattress, feeling it sink under her weight. Clint lay down beside her, and she tucked her head against his neck. She threw one of her legs over his, and wrapped him in an embrace. Clint kissed her head, his hands stroking her hair again. Three simple little words, so easily spoken had been the subject of so much anxiety. Natasha laughed, feeling so absurd at having been so concerned by something so small. Truly, people did complicate feelings a great deal. They made such a simple thing so difficult for themselves.

She reached up and switched off the lamp. She couldn't see Clint at all, but she could feel the steady rise and fall of his throat. She found his free hand and held it against her. "Good night, Nat."

"Good night, Clint," she spoke into the blackness. She felt at peace, something she hadn't felt for so very long. What would happen to her and Clint tomorrow, or in the future, she didn't know, nor did she care. The sense of peace she felt now was all she cared about, that and Clint. She felt safe and secure.

She wondered briefly how the rest of the Avengers were faring. She hoped they were well. She wondered again whether she and Clint would return to S.H.I.E.L.D., or whether they would stay on their own until the Avengers were called again. It didn't matter. She had Clint back at her side. She'd told him how she truly felt, and the weight of it had been taken from her. She felt like she could breathe freely again. She didn't need to worry. What happened in the past was over, and she wouldn't concern herself with the future.

Clint fumbled for her in the dark, laughing, and sweeping her lips to his. Natasha laughed too, wrestling with him. They kissed in the dark, their arms tight around one another. She wasn't the Black Widow here. Here and now she was Natasha. Just Natasha. Here she could drop her tough exterior and enjoy the moment, if only for that night. She was in Clint's safe hands, his body and lips warm against her own. It was peaceful in the dark. The night was theirs, and nothing could take it from them.

_END._

**A/N: Well, we have come to the end. Thank you, thank you, to absolutely each and every person who reviewed, put this story on your favorites/alerts list, or put me on your favorite authors/alerts list. I truly appreciate the support, especially since this is the first multi-chaptered story I have written in roughly six years. I had concerns about being rusty, and not being able to finish this, but your continued support encouraged me to keep writing. I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I did writing.**


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